the man with no name
by queen of laugh-a-lot
Summary: Volunteering as a nurse, Caroline finds herself particularly partial to one mystery man with no name. He's in a coma, injured and she is unable to figure out why she feels more than obliged to be there for him.


**A/N: This is a short AU story, about Klaus and Caroline. Um, I think everything you need to know is in the summary so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise.**

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**the man with no name**

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_'How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.' – _Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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She doesn't know him.

Doesn't even know his name.

They call him John Doe, but she doesn't like to call him that. It's so generic, so unlike him. She's not sure what his name is, but she has the feeling it's something old, _ancient_, special.

The staff ask her why she pays such special attention to the injured man with no name in the corner that everyone forgets about and she can hardly say that it's because she feels some kind of _connection_, some_thing _with him. They'd think she was absolutely insane.

Nobody remembers him, she tells them and it is the truth.

He has no family, no friends to speak of and all the staff forget him because he's so quiet and reserved. He doesn't squeal like the baby next door. He doesn't moan like the old woman down the corridor. He's silent.

She doesn't like him being quiet. It doesn't seem like him. He looks like the kind of guy you'll find at the head of a rebellion, strong, powerful, and loud as a foghorn. He looks like the kind of guy who will never leave your side.

It's why she tells him all her troubles.

When her parents got divorced, she came to him. When she was stuck with money problems, job problems, she came to him. When her friends had better, _successful_ lives than her, she came to him.

She stays with him most nights. The staff notice but don't say anything. She takes care of everyone else first and then slips into his room at the end to stay with him.

And tonight, she'll stay with him again.

Sitting down warily next to him, she drops the bunch of fresh tulips into the little vase on the table and her small hand finds his big one, holding it tightly. He continues breathing calmly and she finds it relaxing, watching him as if he is in a deep sleep. She likes to imagine what he's like, as she leans against the chair peacefully.

Sturdy, she thinks with a certainty even she's confused by. He's clever; he knows what he wants and how to get it. He's not scared. He'll confront any fears he might have head-on and laugh while doing it. He's funny and kind but only to those who deserve it because he has no tolerance for bad people.

She takes a deep breath steadily, eyes fixed on him.

_Wake up_, she whispers, wishing like crazy.

Please.

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He can always tell when she comes in.

She has a scent, a beautiful scent of whatever flowers she brings that day, that floats in with her like a breath of fresh air.

It's not like the doctors or the nurses, who come in with the familiar hospital smell that he's always hated. It's fresh, _pretty_.

And then it's the way she walks. He can hear her slip in; trying to be as quiet as she can, so she doesn't disturb him or the staff. She sometimes moves around his room, adjusting and readjusting things until they're set to her liking. Then she'll sit down next to him, in the annoying chair that's always squeaking.

When she's around, the chair doesn't annoy him as much.

Her soft, smooth hands trail along his own rough, world-weary hands and he _aches_ with longing – to be able to hold it himself, to grasp them.

But he can't.

She'll talk.

About anything and everything under the sun. How nice the sky looks today, how the cable guy ate most of her favourite biscuits, how her friends are getting together this weekend.

He doesn't think she realises that he can hear him otherwise she wouldn't be talking so very much about how much she's craving chocolate, or her embarrassing stories. If he could cringe, he would.

Tonight, she tells him about her work, how a girl keeps trying to take her job but she isn't giving it up for anybody and her friends. How she's suddenly feeling left out, how they're never really asking her if she wants to go anywhere anymore, how she doesn't seem to see them as much.

Her voice goes from being slightly proud to quiet and her hand clasps his a little tighter. He wishes he can say something, squeeze her hand, do anything. She continues and as her voice cracks a little, he can tell she is crying quietly to him.

They think she's stupid, she tells him, giving up her Saturday nights for a man with no name.

But she tells him she likes being here for him, especially when nobody else is here. She asks him if it's selfish of her to want to keep him all to herself and he wants to tell her she can do _anything_ with him.

Sniffing gently, she changes the subject and tells him how hard she's been trying to find his family or anyone who might know him.

Family is always a sensitive subject with him.

He wants to tell her to give up. There's no point. Even if she manages to find them – which he doubts –, she'll never be able to convince them to come and see him. Not after what he's done to them.

_Wake up_, she whispers to him softly and he can feel her gentle breath on his cheek.

His heart beats a little faster.

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The next day, when she enters the hospital, daffodils in hand, she's unsurprised by the amount of activity and the staff are flitting around like birds, trying to be everywhere at once.

She is surprised, however, when she sees him surrounded by a sea of doctors and nurses.

I'm sorry, ma'am, but you will need to step away, one doctor tells her and she obediently sits down.

She gets back up as soon as he's gone and begins badgering the nearest nurse as to _what the hell is going on_.

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He can hear her voice in the background, panicked and unsettled, and wants nothing more than to soothe her, calm her down. She's insisting that she's his wife so she has to know what's going on, which makes him want to laugh.

His heartbeat's increasing, a doctor tells another frantically.

Daffodils.

She's brought daffodils for him today. He likes the fact that she brings him a different bunch of flowers every day. They smell nice. Like her.

I can't keep up, a doctor says anxiously.

They've finally told her what's happening and he can hear her burst into tears. It breaks his heart.

Doctor, someone calls and he's glad it's not her. Is it too late?

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She's dropped the flowers.

They're already crushed by the amount of people who have been stampeding past but she can't bring herself to care even though she spent ages looking for a nice bunch in the shop.

Her tears fall relentlessly and she stays there, after all the doctors and nurses have left. They've put him to rest, they tell her as she nods blankly. They'll come back tomorrow to check again. Maybe she should go rest, as well.

But she doesn't listen to them.

She gets up, when all is dark and not a sound can be heard, moving slowly and quietly into his room. Telling him she's sorry she dropped the flowers, she moves to alter the curtains so the pale moonlight shines lustrously into the room.

When she's sitting in her chair, she looks at him and suddenly she's bending over him gently and her hair brushes his head and he wrinkles his nose, but she doesn't notice.

On some crazy impulse, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

What she isn't ready for is his eyes opening up in an instant and him grinning fit to burst.

'Hello, Caroline. Do you mind doing that again, love?'


End file.
